We stand, in awe, on the giants before us
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We comment often on how small the world has become. We humans have bridged its vast distances with our technology -- with fearlessness and amazing ingenuity. But equally remarkable is how recently this has happened.
Most of my grandparents, all of whom have died, were born before the turn of the last century. They grew up on farms without indoor plumbing or electricity. That was just two generations ago.
Four generations before that, one or two of the Germans among my mostly Irish forebears might have been lucky enough to sit in a concert hall listening to Beethoven himself. They probably didn't, since our family doesn't spring from particularly blessed stock, but I can dream. Now I listen to Beethoven piano sonatas on an iPod.
The march of human history has been brisk, and as a passel of percussionists reminded some of us this weekend, it is drummers, not pianists, who have kept the cadence.
Four generations of percussionists gathered in Pittsburgh last week for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The particulars are unique to our household and careers, but the truth is universal: For all that we enjoy today, we owe much to the hard work and generosity of those who came before us.
We stand on the shoulders of giants. It's not very often that we get to see the full scope of their impact and thank them for it.
During almost four decades with the Philadelphia Orchestra, Alan Abel taught percussion to scores and scores of students, first at the Settlement School and from 1972 onward at Temple University. One of those students was my husband, Andrew Reamer, who is now principal percussion in the PSO.
When Andy saw Rimsky-Korsakov's "Scheherazade" on this season's program, he began plotting to pull off a multigenerational musical reunion.
"Scheherazade" requires five percussionists and a timpanist, an unusually large number that meant three "extras" would have to be hired. All three of the PSO's full-timers are Abel students; quite a few of the region's freelancers are, too. Andy decided to fill out the ranks with Alan's students -- and with Alan himself, as a surprise to the others.
In the end, only one of the men could be kept in the dark: John Soroka, former principal percussion who retired from the PSO in 2008. His stunned response when his beloved teacher walked into Heinz Hall was just the right start to an emotional week of work and celebration. (From the audience's vantage point, though, I can say that even the work looked and sounded like a celebration.)
First Published March 28, 2011 12:00 am
